


And I Must Follow, If I Can

by dedicatedfollower467



Series: And Rivers Golden Run [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Canonical Character Death, Fíli & Kíli Live, Fíli as King, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Siblings, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-24 06:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17699396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedicatedfollower467/pseuds/dedicatedfollower467
Summary: In the traditions of Erebor, the crowning of the new King is also the wake for the old king.Fili can't forget, as the crown rests upon his brown, who is Erebor's true king.





	1. In Hope He Ended

**Author's Note:**

> My dwarf gender headcanons don't match what is true in either the book or the movie, but that's too bad.
> 
> I'm finally revisiting this series again after eons, look at that!
> 
> Title is taken from "The Road Goes Ever On" by the man himself.

“The King is dead. Long live the King!” cries Balin, holding their sword aloft. There is an answering roar from the assembled dwarves. 

Then gentle hands place the heavy crown of Erebor on Fili’s brow. A sharp edge nudges his still-healing head wound, and Fili winces. That’s not the reason for the tears running down his cheeks and wetting his beard.

Beside him, dressed in finery Fili has only heard of in stories, Kili stands as solid and immovable as stone. Fili had always thought that, of the two of them, he was the more stoic, the more responsible, as the older sibling. Kili was the rash little sister, brash and emotional and possessed of a Durin temper that could rival their uncle’s.

But then, Uncle had never cried either, had he?

As the dwarves around him scream their approval, Fili has never felt less suited to the task before him. Who is he, to claim the right of King Under the Mountain? An untried and untested dwarf of 82, who until this past year had never even seen the Lonely Mountain, who has never led his people to do anything.

How can he be King?

Fili is certain his tears must fairly shine in the torchlight, but thankfully, the focus will not be on him for long. For all that he has just been crowned King, tonight is a night to remember the dead. To remember Erebor’s _true_ King.

The wake begins, the feasting and the songs, but Fili finds he cannot speak. The tears have blocked his throat and come streaming down his cheeks and soak his beard and bubble snot from his nose until he feels that he is literally dripping with grief.

He just - he can’t do this. He imagined he’d have years - that Uncle would be there to teach him. Maybe even that Uncle would find someone, have an heir of his own, that Fili would never stand here with this crown creasing his brow.

Kili grips his shoulder, her fingers digging into his skin. When Fili turns to look at her, she gives him the kind of fierce glare that says she can see right through his thick skull and isn’t impressed with the thoughts inside of it.

“You are our King,” she says with the weight of absolute truth. “We mourn him, but we believe in you. And no matter what, we will be there for you, Fili.”

The tears come afresh and Fili buries his head into his sister’s neck for a moment. Her grip on his shoulder transfers smoothly to gentle pats on the back. It reminds him, for a wild instant, of their uncle’s clumsy attempts at soothing him when he was a child and had broken his arm.

After he has snuffled hard enough to bring his grief under some control, Fili pulls away, trying for the dignified look of a King in mourning, rather than the blubbering of a child who has lost his uncle.

It’s a look that seems to come so naturally to Kili. With her hair up and dressed in the ancient finery of the Dwarf Kings of old, her face solemn and distant, she looks like nothing less than a Queen of dwarrowdams. She looks like their mother.

Balin clears their throat, startling Fili. He hadn’t realized the old dwarf was there. “Don’t look now, but I think Bilbo is planning on escaping while we’re distracted,” they say.

Sure enough, the hobbit is edging away from the center of the halls towards the door. From this distance, Fili can’t read his face.

“Thinks he can leave without saying goodbye,” says Balin. “I’ll delay him a bit. You two round up the Company and meet me at the front gate.”

“Balin,” says Fili helplessly. “I’m King now, folks will notice if I leave…”

“I’ll round up the Company,” says Kili immediately. “And don’t be daft, Fili, they’ll let you a moment’s peace if you slip out.”

When Fili eventually joins the company at the gate, where Bilbo stands looking back at them, he is almost overwhelmed by the quiet pain on the hobbit’s face. Bilbo looks as if part of his world has come down around him.

“If any of you are in Bag-End, don’t hesitate to visit,” he says in a wobbly voice. “Tea is at four. And don’t bother to knock.”

Fili steps forward and holds out a hand to their burglar. When Bilbo clasps it, Fili pulls him into an embrace. “And you,” he says. “If you ever find yourself back in the regions of Erebor, the mountain is open to you. Now and always.”

Bilbo’s mouth quivers when he turns away and sets out across the bridge towards Dale, but he gives them a little wave and begins with a light step.

Then, in small groups, each member of the Company returns to the hall.

The songs change throughout the night, from solemn high ballads and tales of homeland and honor, to bawdy tavern ditties as the dwarrows become increasingly more drunk. Under it all, Fili still hears the deep sorrow of loss.

 _Mum should be here_ , Fili thinks, looking out over the sea of dwarves. _He was her brother_.

The tales and stories grow wilder. Kili has too much wine and sings a bawdy song that Fili had never known she knew, claiming Thorin taught it to her. Gloin stands on a table and loudly declaims the tale of Thorin’s great bravery in battle against the goblins of the Misty Mountains, voice shaking with emotion. Dwalin sobs into her tankard about Thorin’s strength at the battle of Azanulbizar and how much she will miss her dear friend and King. Before the night is through, nearly every member of the Company has honored Thorin's memory.

Fili listens to it all, silent, exhausted, new waves of tears occasionally spilling over his eyes, but never saying a word. There is too much in his heart to share.

When the sun finally comes up, most of the dwarves are passed out in the hall or have made their ways back to the various apartments that had been cleared out for the new residents of Erebor. After seeing a stumbling, sleepy Kili to a room, Fili climbs the stairs to the royal chambers of Erebor.

They are empty, and lonely, and dusty, and cold, filled with cobwebs and spiders and the long-forgotten possessions of Thror, King Under the Mountain. Fili eyes the enormous, fraying bedspread, the moth-eaten draperies, the creaking furniture. With a heavy sigh, he lifts the crown of his forefathers from his head and places it on an ancient stone vanity.

Then he finds his small pack, lays out his bedroll on the floor, and curls up with a blanket from Laketown, not even bothering to change clothes or tend to his hair and beard.

He had thought himself spent of tears, but as the rays of dawn break into the King’s chambers, Fili finds a few more drops to shed. 

“Uncle Thorin,” he whispers into the thin streams of light and the itchy cloth of the blanket. “I wish you were here.”


	2. Come Into His Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where bathing/washing becomes part of the fic. FOR THE RECORD I do not ship Fili/Kili, and I view the scene where they share a bath as totally familial/platonic. Dwarves have very different concepts of privacy than Americans do.
> 
> This is also the chapters where nightmares/PTSD applies. I don't think it's too explicit, but tread carefully.

Fili shouts himself awake in the middle of the next day, his eyes full of Azog’s horrific visage, body sticky with sweat that makes him feel like he is covered in blood. He flings out a groping hand for Kili, and when he doesn't find her he starts to panic, calling her name. Struggling out of the bedroll he grabs the knife that he always keeps on his person and stares around wildly. 

The room is not one he recognizes, but as the nightmare fades he starts to remember. His eyes land on the crown on the vanity, fingers instinctively clenching around the hilt of his knife.

“Fili?”

His sister’s voice is groggy and panicked when she flings open the door to his chambers, but Fili can't help relaxing slightly when he sees her. Kili, at least, is safe. Azog didn't get her. Azog is dead. Uncle Thorin killed him. 

“Fili? Are you all right? The guards heard you calling for me…”

Fili takes a deep breath, crosses the room, and pulls Kili into a deep hug. His hands, he notes, are shaking, but part of him is calmed by the knowledge that she is really here. She smells like alcohol and body odor and his fingers tangle in the snarl of her mussed hair, but that makes it even better, because it is more evidence that she is alive. 

“Fili?” Kili sounds even more lost than he feels. 

“Sorry,” Fili says, pulling away from her. “Nightmare.”

Kili’s eyebrows lift in gentle understanding. “Are you all right?” she asks again. 

“I'm fine. Better now that you're here.”

“Do you need anything?”

“A bath,” Fili admits, tugging at his sweat-soaked coronation tunic. “And probably breakfast. Or lunch or whatever meal works for the time of day.”

Kili laughs and helps him draw a bath in the royal chambers, the two of them fiddling with the knobs and fixtures until they work out that there's actual hot water available. Fili doesn't know how or why the hot water is there, but as he slips beneath the surface, he has never been more grateful. 

Kili joins him - it would be a waste to use the whole tub just for himself - and Fili calms himself by helping her wash and detangle her hair, pulling fingers gently through it. He's always found caring for his little sister soothing, and now more than ever he needs to know she's physically present. 

A sense of nostalgia cascades through him, and he realizes with a pang of homesickness that he's half-expecting to feel his mother’s or Thorin’s hands in his own hair. They haven't bathed as a family in years, not since Fili was a child - and now they never will again. 

Tears prickle suddenly at Fili’s eyes and he drops his hands from Kili’s hair to brush them away. Kili glances back at him and then leans her head back against his chest. 

“I miss him, too,” Kili whispers and oh Mahal this is not how Fili wanted to begin his rule, sobbing in the bathtub as his sister turns around to gently hold him and begin fixing his hair. 

The water is cool by the time they get out of the bath, and the bite of the cold air is freezing, the stone beneath Fili’s feet like ice. Kili dumps a towel over his head and its sheer size makes him smile. It's like a fluffy absorbent blanket. Fili is almost surprised that towels, of all things, have lasted this long. 

They dress themselves, Kili choosing a pair of ancient but comfortable-looking trousers and matching tunic from a back corner of the wardrobe Fili has inherited. Fili wishes he could wear the same, but he is King of Erebor now. He chooses something that looks more resplendent, with embroidery and jewels. True, he knows little of fashion, but he is a dwarf and recognizes a well-crafted object when he sees one. 

They do up their braids in the long mirror in the bathroom. Fili tuts and shakes his head at Kili’s quick treatment - a few quick braids and the rest brushed back over her shoulders, not even bothering to use oils. Fili takes more time with his own appearance, carefully plaiting his mustache and hair, then selecting a pair of thin steel scissors to trim the beard that has grown much longer than his customary mourning style - a symbol he and Thorin had both worn, to remind them of their people's lost homeland. 

And then he thinks to himself, _We have taken Erebor. The dragon is dead, the treasure is reclaimed, the Arkenstone lays on Thorin’s chest. Our people have a home again at last._

He lays down the scissors. Kili notices, but makes no comment. 

Fili will have to decide how to style his new beard. The thought is both exciting and terrifying. What braids befit a warrior of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield and the current King Under the Mountain?

Maybe he'll ask Balin for ideas. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I do eventually hope to write more fics in this series! If you haven't already, please do check out "Dragon Heart," which is set a few months after this story.


End file.
